The colonel recalled his lessons on submerging a vessel. “If you don’t, then we’d submerge with huge air intakes open, which could lead to catastrophic flooding?”
“Yes, at least one intake, since this ship has two. But they should have automated safety shutoffs.”
“If they fail?”
“Then we’d take on water and begin sinking, but this ship is large enough to give us time to fight to the surface.”
“So be it. We’ll take our chances. I’ll tell the engine room to bring up the gas turbine. How can I communicate with them without having to make that long walk?”
“I’ve set up an open microphone circuit. Just yell.”
The colonel raised his voice. “Engine room?”
Loudspeakers delivered the engineer’s response. “We’re here.”
“Can you bring up the gas turbine yet?”
“Yes. It’s a standard General Electric LM twenty-five-hundred plus design as expected. We’ve been warming it up in case you needed it.”
“Bring it up.” Rumbling steel and howling air feeding the engine’s hunger confirmed the turbine’s fury, but then the sounds died. “What happened?”
The speakers issued a misplaced voice the colonel recognized as belonging to a commando. “It shut down. The geeks are trying to figure it out.”
“Go to them and come back with a report.”
“I will, sir.”
While the colonel awaited his propulsion status, he found his mind wandering to odd concerns. He questioned what food was aboard, if he’d have clean water to drink, and whether the showers used freshwater or saltwater.
The commando’s voice brought him back to pressing needs. “It was a ventilation problem. The turbine was trying to suck air from a throttled intake. It should be up soon.”
“How soon is that?”
Growling steel gave the colonel is answer. “Never mind. Have them give me their best speed.” As vibrations rose from the hull, ticking numbers on a prominent gauge caught his attention. He aimed his voice at the control room’s occupants. “Just under twenty-four knots. Is that all?”
The commander frowned. “In this mode of propulsion, yes. One screw and one gas turbine.”
“But surely we can generate more speed, even with just one gas turbine available.”
“In terms of just power, I would agree. But the limiting factor is the single propeller for delivering that power to the water, and I also have to steer our rudder right five degrees to compensate for the single propeller’s tendency to push us to the left. It’s creating drag.”
“I don’t have enough experts to bring up all power sources at once. One engine room is all I get for now, and this is all the speed I have.”
“Don’t worry. This is fast enough to outrun the submarines, but you have a bigger problem.”
The comment returned the colonel’s thoughts to an important assumption he’d forgotten — the non-lethality of the incoming torpedo.
Uncertain how raw sounds fed calculations that became renderings of reality, he appreciated the simplified overhead view of the waters around the Goliath the Subtics system made available on screens through the ship.
On the screen beside his hip, a simple crosshair in the center signified his catamaran, and red icons of submarines and a torpedo represented the nearby dangers. He knew he could press buttons, tap icons, or drag a stylus to conjure answers, but he lacked time to learn the skills.
He looked to his submarine commander. “How soon until we know?”
“With our new speed, about sixty to ninety seconds. It’s hard to tell when the geometry’s as direct as this. We’re essentially target practice for the Specter.”
“You make it sound hopeless.”
“This stands against everything to which I’ve dedicated my career. I know you believe the torpedo has a harmless warhead, but God help me if you overestimated Renard’s love for this ship.”
The colonel turned and watched the torpedo slide towards the crosshair. If his intuition of time was accurate, the answer would arrive soon. “God help us all if I’m wrong.”
“You’re basing your assumptions on snippets from a man’s dossier.”
The colonel scoffed. “I grow weary of your challenge. Either I’m right, or I’m wrong. If I’m wrong, it won’t matter. And it’s not snippets in a dossier. I know Renard.”
The commander looked to the deck and then met his stare. “I won’t speak of worst cases again, unless there’s value in doing so.”
“Good. So let’s assume I’m right, and we’ll continue as planned despite this unexpectedly rapid reaction from the submarines.”
Fear consumed the commander’s face. “No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just realized how terrible this could be.”
“How so?”
“Renard’s arrogant enough to think he can finance and build a replacement vessel. He’s arrogant enough to destroy this ship because he sees himself as bigger than its cost.”
The concept generated a cloud of fear that pinched the colonel’s stomach but then dissipated. “That may be true. But you’re overlooking another critical—”
The icon of the torpedo disappeared, and a mini-swarm of magnetic limpets clamped themselves to the hull. The cascading and interlacing thudding echoes brought both terror and hope as the colonel recognized the attachment of benign noisemakers.
When the magnetic trackers began shrieking sonic frequencies, he sighed in relief.
The first counterstrike had arrived, and it had brought no harm. Instead, it portended an extended clash of skills and wills, as he’d predicted. With his confidence swelling, he turned to his submarine commander. “The critical point you’re overlooking just revealed itself.”
“I still believe he’s arrogant enough to think he can lose this ship and acquire a new one.”
“You’re too kind in your assessment.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Because he’s more arrogant than that. He’s arrogant enough to believe he can outwit us and take the Goliath back.”
CHAPTER 4
Olivia McDonald leaned back in her chair, dissecting herself with her psychologist’s acumen.
With relentless candor, she sliced through her outer protective layer to glimpse her pain, disappointment, and loneliness.
Rape trauma had eviscerated her innocence, leaving a broken girl. Survival demanded the aggressive protective layer she’d crafted during fifteen years at the CIA, and in a male world that provoked her reoccurring nightmares, a pillaging monster provided her best defense.
She hated the monster but understood its necessity. So she learned to accept her self-generated inner beast, influence it, and tame it.
A decade ago, her first post-trauma assignment had targeted the fugitive Jake Slate, whom she’d ensnared with feigned love. Though she’d slipped into true love, she’d helped stop a nuclear attack through her accidental alliance with the former American naval officer, attracting strong allies within the CIA.
Success begat power and high-profile assignments, such as teaming again with Jake and his mentor, Pierre Renard, to thwart an electromagnetic pulse attack on the United States. Mastery in languages, investigations, military tactics, and psychology had allowed her continued success, and excelling in manipulation, politics, and even seduction had enabled her advancement.
Increasing power had fed a beast that grew hungrier. As she’d recognized Pierre Renard’s growing need for her support, her outer animal began to sink its fangs into him.
She’d given him intelligence to capture the Malaysian submarine that had become the Wraith. She’d connected him with the Australian Navy, serving up Terrance Cahill as his ace to command the Goliath. She’d supplied him with weapons in the Falklands, subsidized his attack on Crimea, and set up regime changes in Greece and Israel for his profitable Mediterranean missions.